The Beginning
by awomanking
Summary: It wasn't the sexy, torrid affair that the world thought it was. They weren't fucking in the arenas. They didn't sneak into each other's hotel rooms after the shows. They circled each other for months, almost a full year before any of that actually happened. And everyone who mattered basically saw it coming before they did.
1. Paul

**The Beginning**

December 1999

It wasn't the sexy, torrid affair that the world thought it was. They weren't fucking in the arenas, down the hall from everyone they worked with. They didn't sneak into each other's hotel rooms after the shows. It wasn't like that. They circled each other for months, almost a full year before any of that actually happened. And everyone who mattered basically saw it coming before they did.

But they were... inappropriate. From the start. From before the start. Or maybe it was just him. Either way, fate knew what was to come and it was written in the stars, and in the scripts. They hadn't bothered to read.

Literally, they never read the scripts.

Okay, again, it was him who didn't. In 1999, the Attitude Era was in full swing and he was living on the edge. He'd help Vince work some angles out and even dabbled in writing lines. For other wrestlers. He improv-ed his own every Monday and Tuesday. It drove people crazy.

Triple H, Hunter, Paul, whoever he was in that moment, was the golden boy. Steve and Rock were the superstars, but Hunter was becoming Undertaker in miniature. Destined to become a life-er, Paul Levesque was growing roots in the squared circle _and_ backstage. People liked him, respected him, and went to him for advice. And he wasn't even 30 yet.

Sure, there were the critics. And jealousy is a disease that never completely dies. But for the most part, he was in everyone's good graces. Shawn had casted a bit of a morbid shadow over him but Shawn was gone. Triple H had since proved that he didn't have the ego that his friend had had. And he didn't party. He didn't drink or do drugs. Didn't do anything really that wasn't in some way involved with, or for the benefit of, the WWF.

So he was the perfect one to work with the boss's daughter. Ever the professional, Vince could trust him to show her the ropes and ease her way into the on-air world of professional wrestling. Vince Russo had left. He took his controversial ideas, and the ending to the Test-Stephanie storyline, with him to WCW. Hunter had come up with the solution. Triple H was feuding with Mr. McMahon. Merge the two storylines. Have Triple H crash the wedding and build to a climax at Armageddon.

Vince loved it.

Hunter sat to the immediate right of the chairman at production meetings. Where he could be adored and dotted upon by the old man. Paul loved it. He admired Vince. Respected him more than any other man he had ever met. To have taken nothing and turned into all of this; damn. Paul didn't ever want to work anywhere else. He planned to wrestle until he was old and broken. Once that happened, he'd produce and do everything else behind the scenes. It was not a dream, but a plan, a goal. And he'd never do anything to jeopardize that.

Armageddon 1999 was a colossal success. A sold out crowd roared from start to finish. When Triple H and Vince McMahon battled for a title shot and an annulment, the atmosphere was electric. It was a long match. Planning it took time. Time was the only thing Vince never seemed to have enough of. So Stephanie's grand reveal was not thoroughly practiced. Hunter and Vince choreographed the match and then simply explained to Stephanie what to do. Act like she wants the sledgehammer to hit Triple H herself, chicken out, let Hunter take the weapon and use it on her dad. Then cry over the old man's body, stand up to see her husband about to hit her, smile, and go in for the big hug. Then kiss.

It was a bit awkward. The three of them stood in the ring and it couldn't have been more obvious that neither Hunter nor Stephanie wanted to work this out in front of Vince. Usually, the chairman wouldn't have given a damn, and forced them to. But it was the day of the pay-per-view and he really was needed elsewhere. So they were off the hook.

"Just wrap you arms around my neck and I'll plant one on ya. It's no big deal," he said to her. She looked relieved and he chuckled at how green she was. Twenty-three and just months out of college. He couldn't imagine it.

She thanked him before all but bolting out of the ring.

Later, during the climax of the show, adrenaline exploded inside of him. The match was awesome! He and Vince had pulled off one hell of a fucking spectacle. Chairs, trashcans, sledgehammers, and blood. It was insane. And the fans went crazy. Stephanie, for all her nerves, was perfect. The reaction to her heel-turn was incredible. He smiled back at her and pulled her in for the hug. She held his hand up high as the victor and he pressed his lips to hers. It was hard and fast. The blood pumping in his ears thumped in time with the crowd's boos and cheers. He wouldn't ever forget the moment.

They had _technically _kissed before. Well he had kissed her. A few SmackDown's before, she was scripted to go out to the ring and beg him for a divorce. As a true heel, he cockily declined and then dipped her, kissing her resisting month. It wasn't much of a kiss. Her lips were sealed shut and she was flailing all over the place. They both fought the urge to laugh at the over-exaggeration of it all.

Now was the Monday Night Raw after Armageddon. It was Stephanie's big moment. Her first major promo. The McMahon-Helmsley Era was about to begin. And they had to rehearse.

He'd rehearsed things like this before. Produced them too. You plan how your heads will pivot and where your hands are going to go. Easy-peasy. No tongue. And usually the script stays in your hand. She knew that too, of course. Vince would have told her. I mean who wouldn't give that little tidbit to their grown child who had to practice publicly making-out on screen.

Problem was that Vince didn't say any of that to Stephanie. He was too busy being the boss. And he liked his kids to learn to swim by throwing them into the water. So at noon on December 13, 1999, Hunter found himself in a room with Stephanie McMahon. She had a huge segment written for her to deliver in just nine hours and she was green. He needed to teach her, to get her comfortable, confident, and ready. That's what Vince had instructed him to do.

"Are you nervous?"

"Oh my God, you have no idea."

Laughing, he told her that he did. He was in her shoes not too long ago. They went over her lines almost a hundred times. For an hour, he prepped her. Most of his instruction was on the delivery. She had memorized the script almost freakishly fast.

"Now when you leave the ring, I'll meet you at the top of the ramp. I give some cheesy line about sealing this was a kiss, we make-out, and it's done."

She was looking at him sheepishly.

"Are you nervous about the kiss?"

A shy smile was her reply.

He chuckled in a friendly way, "don't be."

"I just don't want to fuck anything up."

He hadn't heard her swear before.

"You won't. We'll run through it now so it looks natural. You'll know where to put your hands and everything. It's awkward but honestly it's the easiest thing you'll have to do tonight."

He could tell she doubted that.

"Okay, 'I'm gonna seal it was a kiss' yada yada and then I'll put my arm around you like this," he made the motion with his right arm but didn't touch her. She took a step closer to him like he had pulled her in. He hadn't. "You put this arm under mine and then the other can go to my shoulder." Again he gave the instructions without performing the actual physicality. She nodded at him, looking a bit nervous.

"We can practice once if that would make you feel better."

Another shy smile, "would you be giving me that option if I wasn't," her eyes widened for emphasis, "who I am?"

He laughed kindly again, "No. You're dad's pretty strict about rehearsing."

"Okay, then let's run through it. I can't have him critiquing this afterwards. You have no idea how he is with us."

She said it lightly but he felt a pang of sympathy for her. Vince could be intense in the work environment. A brief second had him envisioning his boss in a private setting.

"Okay, come to me and I'll meet you half way."

Hands by his sides, check. Script rolled into his right fist, check. Ignoring the fact that Stephanie was hot, check. Professional Paul Levesque was in full mode and he was ready to start the angle of his career.

And then Stephanie McMahon stepped into his space. She didn't close her eyes until the last second so he had to stare into her blue orbs. She smelled amazing. He automatically held his breath against the scent. An unusual anxiety set into his stomach in the three seconds before they kissed. Her hands gently rested just above his waist. His abs contracted in shock.

When her pursed lips met his, he exhaled through his nose. It was more of a sigh if he were being honest with himself. Which he wasn't. How were her lips so soft? A fight or flight battle started in his head. She was very much kissing him. He barely moved. Her lips massaged his slowly but deliberately, applying just a bit of pressure. It was... nice. Very nice. He kissed back.

And then her lips parted ever so slightly.

_What. The. Fuck. No tongue! No touching! _

Those were the rules._ Why didn't anyone tell her the rules?_

She didn't use _her_ tongue. It was just an invitation. It had to be. Opening your mouth during a kiss was the international sign for 'put your tongue in my mouth.'

His tongue seared with want. _Yes, yes, do it_. And he would have. He was going to, but then she surprised him again. She gently, almost to the point where he could barely feel it, sucked his bottom lip between hers. And he really did sigh this time. Her thumbs swept back and forth against his sides. She held his lip for a moment. It seemed to last an eternity. His palms itched to grab her.

Stephanie ended the kiss with a small tug. Hunter's eyes opened immediately to watch hers flutter open. She stared at him questioningly. Big blue puppy dog eyes waiting for approval.

_No, Paul! You CANNOT FUCK HER! _

He cleared his throat.

"Is that okay?"

He smiled like a doofus.

"Yeah, it's perfect. I, uh, you seem more comfortable."

Her cheeks flushed instantly and she looked horrified.

"Which is good!" He was quick to add.

Her blush deepened and she avoided his eyes in a way that was infuriatingly endearing to him. She scrunched her nose in embarrassment for a second before adding shyly, "I'm sorry."

"For being a good kisser? That's not something anyone should apologize for." He gave her his best panty-peeling smile and winked.

_You're flirting now?! What the fuck is wrong with you?_

Vince McMahon's daughter laughed while rolling her eyes.

"So just repeat that when we're out there?"

"Yeah, that'll be good. We'll look hot and he'll look pissed. Crowd's gonna fucking loose it."

Stephanie smiled, "I hope so."

"They will. Just remember to breathe and take it slow. When you're live out there, you feel rushed. Guys tend to move too fast and hit too hard. You gotta try and fight back the adrenaline. I know you're not wrestling but it's still a performance."

"Oh I know, believe me. I wanna vomit just thinking about it. Does that ever go away?"

"That feeling? Not really. But you'll learn to love it."

Smiling at her, he realized that they hadn't broken eye contact. She was a weird mix between passive and intimidating. She was looking for guidance but her stare was piercing. He forced himself to look away.

"Well, princess, that's it. You're ready."

"Thank you. I'll see you before the show?"

She followed him out into the hallway.

"Yeah, you'll meet me at gorilla."

Her smile was dazzling but the space between them allowed his brain to function correctly. He gave her a final wave before they parted.

Joanie and him were fighting. Again. He hadn't had sex in almost two weeks. Which was like a lifetime for him. He should find the time to smooth things over with her this afternoon. It was getting to him. Obviously. He had always been faithful. To every woman he'd ever been with. It never even crossed his mind to not be. He was raised right.

And the thought wasn't in his mind now either. Absolutely not. He licked his lips because they were dry. It was December. His boss's daughter was cute. And she was a good kisser. Whatever. There were lots of pretty little things around him. It wasn't a big deal.

This was an opportunity of a lifetime, this storyline. He had to nail it. It would put him over in a way that no one could question. He licked his lips again. His life was perfect. He had achieved more than he had even dreamed. Work here, be the champion, make-out with the littlest McMahon. What. A. Life.

Paul licked his lips three more times before heading into the locker room. And he didn't think anything of it.


	2. Steph

lita101matt101, xXBalorBabeXx, PlayTheGame, Goon, and me again: Thank you so much for the chapter one review! I hope you all like the new update :)

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December 1999

Six months. She had been working in the WWF, shadowing her father, for six months. It had been exhilarating, nerve-wracking, and everything in between. It had been everything. It was everything. She couldn't describe it. Stephanie McMahon was working harder than she had ever done before. And despite being an heiress, she had been raised to work hard.

This was just something else though. The work never ceased, never slowed. From administrating, to creative, to sales, to production, to… _everything_, her father didn't stop. So she didn't stop. Stephanie lived each day with her mentality swinging like a pendulum. One side was mind-blowing energy and enthusiasm; the other was a dark downward pull of exhaustion and stress. Four days after her college graduation was her first day on the job at the World Wrestling Federation. Her hangover from the commencement celebrations had barely eased when she found herself in a business suit at 8AM in Titan Towers. And now she was traveling almost everyday. It was unreal.

But she knew she was addicted. She wanted this. Her parents had built this. Her family breathed this. And she would run it one day. It was a quiet admission in the back of her mind. But she _knew. _She knew she'd be the one to take the business. It wouldn't be for a very long time, decades probably, but Stephanie McMahon, youngest of her family and most unlikely, would ascend to executive and CEO one day.

Something she didn't know was how long she would be used as an on-air personality. She didn't think she was particularly talented in regards to acting, but the people around her seemed pleased. Which meant little if she were honest with herself, which she usually tried to be. Her father's circle tended to over compliment her. The esteem given to her worked against its intentions. She felt no confidence from the empty words. On the contrary, it made her feel insecure and anxious. This was the absolute worst thing imaginable when she had to perform in front of an arena.

Lately, these feelings had been calmed. Hunter had accomplished that simply by working with her. He was… amazing. Stephanie thought this without intention. She appreciated and respected his talent in a multitude of areas. He seemed like one of the few people who could do it all in her family's business. He had produced their drive-thru wedding, he helped with storylines, he entertained and controlled the entire crowd whenever the microphone was in his hand, and he wrestled better than anyone she had ever seen.

Maybe it was because she got to see him perform from ringside. Maybe it was because the crowds roared into her ears as she performed alongside him. Maybe it was because they spent so much time with each other and she witnessed first hand that his dedication was second to none. Besides her father, she'd never seen a man so focused. So passionate. It was mesmerizing. One couldn't help but want to be near men like that. Right? Right.

So their onscreen relationship was getting easier to make look authentic. Sitting on his lap wasn't an issue. She leaned off to the side with her legs up so feeling _him_ wasn't the problem.

His hands were the problem.

They were always the problem. Every live Raw and SmackDown taping, his hands were all over her. They held her hands, her waist, her arms; he was constantly touching her. They had been told to play it up. Bruce Prichard's exact words were, "You're newlyweds. Act like it!"

Stephanie trusted Hunter. She admired him. He was wonderful to work with. He was patient and helpful. And he was always respectful. He never made her feel like she was less than, because of the nepotism that brought her to the ring. He also never treated her like a superior, because she wasn't, but others had gone about doing so and it was awkward as hell.

No, Hunter was perfect. Expect for his hands. Well… okay, she couldn't really think that either. Because his hands were pretty perfect. They were big and strong and calloused in just the right places. They were masculine in every way, but clean and groomed. And she had felt just how gentle they could be.

She could think all of this in a dejected, observational way, of course. She wasn't attracted to his hands. No, that would be insane. Stephanie just wasn't blind or stupid. She wasn't attracted to the female performers either but she could admit when other women possessed sex appeal.

Not that she had ever contemplated Triple H's sex appeal.

Nope, she definitely wasn't doing that.

Stephanie just recognized the wrestler's hands as an issue. Because she wasn't going to ever admit to liking his touches. She couldn't. But she had come to anticipate them. Her fingers would twitch against her sides as she stood waiting at gorilla for "My Time" to play. Her jitters would not lesson until he took her hand and they passed through the curtain.

And when he gripped her hips, the arena's lights seemed to choose her, out of the thousands in attendance, to direct their heat. His touch was always different, sometimes firm and possessive. Other times, his fingers were feather-light against her. This added to the anticipation, to the electricity of them being live and watched.

He didn't take liberties, but he certainly wasn't exactly shy either. He was comfortable off and on-screen. But sometimes, despite his undisputed professionalism, she wondered if he was displaying more affection than needed. But the thought was out of her mind in a split second. It was stupid to think that way.

Hunter's comfort was obvious at the current moment. She sat on his lap in front of a roaring crowd and watched the Big Show battle Kane. They were in character. They were being watched. So everyone in the stands, in the back, and watching on television could see him caress her bare leg.

"Do you always chomp your gum like a cow? "

He laughed openly, "It's cheap heat, princess."

"You look ridiculous."

"I'm drunk on power, torturing everyone on the roster, with the boss's daughter on my knee. Triple H is many things, ridiculous isn't one of them."

"I'm not on your knee, am I?"

"It's an expression. Makes it sound like you're getting –"

"I know what it insinuates."

They made eye contact for one second. Bedroom eyes clashed for an instant. They looked towards the ring immediately.

She was a McMahon though. She was conceived in fire and born into the flames. She was at home in the heat.

"You're blushing," she said.

"I am not."

But he was and she liked it.

"All that DX bravado and spanking is what turns you pink."

Their eyes met at her giggle. The match and the crowd seemed to disappear.

"You're pink all the time," he shot back. He stroked his knuckles against her warm cheek as emphasis.

"Oh I'm pink all over."

Hunter's nostrils flared and his eyes darkened again. She gulped.

The crowd roared with surprise. Something significant had happened in the match. Wait! They knew what was happening. They knew what would happen. What the fuck was wrong with her?

He moved to stand and she followed his lead. Right. Act victorious. That was the scene. Kane vs. Big Show, something, something else, they're drunk on power, in the show, not in real life, and had she really just made a reference to her pussy?

Yup, that happened.

Triple H was losing it beside her. _Get your shit together, Steph!_ She did. She outwardly celebrated and followed him to the center of the stage. And he pulled her to him the second she was beside him. Like he had since they started this storyline two weeks before.

He was ranting into the microphone, cocky and smug and everything else that made Triple H such a successful heel. Stephanie listened to none of it. She contorted her face into a villainous expression and concentrated on the hand that cupped her hip. His grip was tight this time, domineering for all the world to see.

Then he wished the crowd a Merry Christmas, and they parted to raise their hands in mock victory. Raw is War went off the air as Triple H once again pulled his wife flush against him and sneered menacingly at the camera. For the benefit of the live crowd, DX ranted and raved at the top of ramp.

Again, she lost herself. She was tall and broad shouldered. All her life, she had never felt dainty. She wasn't the petite girl who was scooped up, princess style, and carried around. But being pressed against him, feeling how big and strong Paul Levesque was, made her feel more feminine than ever. His arm was wrapped around her, hand just below her hip, keeping her body cradled to his. She felt every muscle of his torso.

_Enough, Stephanie! _

She was not, could not, ever think about what she was just about to think. To feel. No. Not now, not ever. Absolutely not.

"Is this okay?"

Electricity. His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke and it sent electricity down to her toes and back. Goose bumps rippled down her arm and her brain shut off. She looked to him confused. She forgot the question instantly.

"Is this okay?" He was nearly yelling, competing with the crowd's volume. He flexed his hand against her hip, explaining his question.

Batting her eyelashes, she smirked.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

Laughing, she spoke without thinking. Her mind was blank.

"You're blushing again!"

"I am not."

"You are," she teased.

He tightened his grip on her again, pulling her harder against him, and laughed openly. Against her ear again, there was no denying his flirtatious tone.

"Just making sure you're comfortable."

She shivered once more.

"I'll let you know –"

"Alright Champ, let's go!"

Pac was beside them, a bundle of energy and practically screaming over the still booing arena. Hardly any of the fans had begun to exit. The power couple moved to leave, but the intensity of the moment stayed. Their fingers entwined. Holding hands tightly, they walked towards the entrance and were the last to pass through the curtain.

A brief round of applause by the production crew greeted the group. Another successful show was in the books. Stephanie felt the chill of real life wash over her. She was Stephanie McMahon, responsible daughter of Vince and Linda. Not Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley, spoiled and wicked wife of The Game. But Triple H still held her hand. She looked to him.

They stood partially hidden in the shadows behind D-Generation X. He was laughing at something Pac had just said. Carefully, she flexed her fingers to signal for him to let go. But he just looked to her. Then his mouth was by her ear again.

"Good job tonight, princess."

His fingers squeezed hers once more before dropping her hand and walking away. She ignored the goose bumps that erupted from her ear and down her spine. She ignored the slight itch in the center of her palm. And she definitely ignored the butterflies in her stomach.

She was tired, stressed, and overworked. She was green and nervous. That's it. Nothing more.

Hunter threw her a smirk over his shoulder. She smirked back.

_Fuck. _


End file.
